Curse of the Scorpion
by SpartAl412
Summary: Beneath the sands of the lands south of the Old World, ancient powers slumber, waiting for the foolish to awaken them. Deathless and undying, a terrible curse awaits those who disturb the rest of those ancients. Yet sometimes, the curse befalls not upon the foolish but simply, the unlucky.
_Araby IC: 1452_

Kneeling upon a bergama and placing their foreheads to the ground, the army of the Emir, Salim ibn Nasir offered their obeisance to the One God. An imam led the prayer as more than a thousand other men participated in religious observance. Praising the One God and calling him great, they prayed for success, both in victory today and victory for their brethren in the north.

For years now, the righteous armies of the Sultan had been at war with the infidels of the northern lands. The nation of Estalia had been conquered, thousands of its people sent to the port city of Lashiek as slaves, the women would likely be sent to the harems of many a sheikh, emir or bey, the older men-folk would be laborers, working the forges and mines to help sustain the war effort while the younger ones would be inducted into the Sultan's Janissary Corp. Yet, word was now spreading that their comrades in Estalia were valiantly defending the conquered city of Magritta and that a great army of the northmen, the so-called Crusaders were on their way to Araby.

It was by the order of the Sultan that his armies needed to be replenished, that new recruits be drawn from across the lands, both from the cities and the nomadic tribes. Many of the nomads, those who had sworn fealty to the Sultan, had willingly sent their most able warriors to join the war but others were far more stubborn. Some tribal groups like the Bani and Scythans had been the most troublesome for they had openly defied the dictates of the Sultan.

Unlike many of the nomadic tribes and perhaps even most of Araby, the Bani and the Scythan tribes were among the dew who refused to worship the One God and instead, like the infidels of the north, they worshiped many heathen deities. It was said that they served dark, ancient gods, of things long dead but never truly dying, that they swore fealty only to dead kings of the cursed east. For many years, the pagan tribes been nothing more than a minor power in Araby, either they were the occasional bandit, trader or guide for caravan but in recent years since the beginning of the Sultan's reign, they had become something of a focal point for those who did not agree with their monarch.

Given time, they could become a major threat to the war effort with the northmen and to this, the Sultan could not allow. Having volunteered for the task of subduing the pagans, the Sultan had given the Emir the command the army of an entire legion of warriors accompanied by slaves carrying the army's baggage. When the prayer ended, the Arabyan army slowly rose up from their prayer mats which were then taken by the slaves to be stored on carts and the soldiers began to form up into proper regiments.

A pair of slaves brought forth the horse of Salim, a fine stallion with a cloud white coat along with his armor. Putting on his gilded suit of chainmail which would be worn beneath his bright red robes of gold, he felt ready to bring righteous fury down upon the infidels this day. Mounting his horse which was now also appropriately garbed for war, he drew his jeweled scimitar from its sheath and raised it high, the tip pointed towards the sky and he gave a loud cry.

'THE ONE GOD IS GREAT!' roared the Emir at the top of his long.

'THE ONE GOD IS GREAT!' replied the voice of more than a thousand men in unison as swords, spears and bows were raised high in salute.

* * *

 _Several Days later…_

Bringing down his bloodied scimitar, Salim split open the head of a nomad whose turban offered no protection against the finely forged blade. As the dead man fell off of his horse, the Emir blocked a spear strike with his shield and he repaid his attacker by stabbing the nomad in the chest. All around the Emir, his warriors were laying into the pitiful resistance offered by the wandering tribals and as he crushed the last vestiges of opposition, the survivors were already being put in chains.

Another had quickly been subjugated this day, its peoples would join the war effort and there was a surprisingly large amount of treasure to be had from them. He had noticed the many pieces of jewelry which some of the nomads carried, no doubt most of it were items stolen from merchant caravans or other travelers crossing the deserts of the Sahra. The thought of such riches to be had only encouraged the Arabyan soldiers into greater acts of courage for all of them knew that could easily become wealthy men.

By the time the last of the nomad tribe's warriors had fallen, Salim quickly ordered for the survivors to be rounded up and sent back to their army's encampment where the slave pens had been set up. He heard the voices of some of the women screaming for by right of conquest, the Arabyan soldiers were allowed to take brides from among the defeated but of course, they still had a quota to finish for the slave markets of Lashiek. Trusting that the officers would be wise enough to keep the men in line, he guided his horse towards the center of the camp where all the treasure that had been found was being piled up.

Beneath the bright Arabyan sun, the treasure which they had claimed brightly shone with the colors of gold, silver, bronze and various gemstones. One particular piece which caught the eye of the Emir was a small scorpion statuette made from gold, malachite and emeralds for its eyes. Dismounting from his horse, he walked towards the statuette and he picked it up before observing it, he marveled at the craftsmanship of the golden scorpion and he quickly decided to keep this one for himself.

A fine prize it would make, one fit for an Emir such as himself. What he did not know was that by the mere act of handling, he had unleashed a curse upon himself. Ancient magic that could only be seen by those with The Sight, stirred as an unworthy hand beheld that which was a gift from Sokth, the Scorpion God unto his servants.

A few miles away from the sacked nomad encampment and buried beneath the sands, an ancient being roused from the eternal slumber of death…

* * *

 _That very night…_

Placing a hand over his mouth and letting out a loud yawn, Hassan silently cursed for having been assigned to sentry duty this night. In his right hand, he held on to a spear, the butt of the weapon was planted upon the sands and in his left, he held up a torch. The moon stars shined brightly tonight and the air was very cold as it usual was in the desert.

Dressed in thick clothing to help keep warm, the soldier felt a different sort of chill, one which went deeper than in flesh and bone. It was no secret that they were close to the borders with the Land of the Dead, the realm of the dreaded Tomb Kings which had once waged the Wars of Death upon all of Araby. It was said that aside from the dry dead which inhabited the realm, there were also many other unnatural entities which lived there, such as the restless spirits of the ancient Nehekharans.

Nervously whispering a prayer to the One God for protection, he hoped that he would soon be relieved from his duty. The wind continued to howl across the sandy dunes, playing tricks on his mind for he thought that he could hear the countless voices wailing in agony within it. A cold sweat began to form upon his brow and Hassan could feel his heart beat a bit faster.

Hassan cursed himself for having such fears for he was still a soldier in service to the Sultan. "A true warrior should have no fear of death" his father had once told him, for a warrior embraces it above all. Death in service to the One God was rewarded in the afterlife where the faithful would live in paradise along with several dozens of virgin wives. Feeling a measure of courage enter his heart, Hassan felt somewhat better as he continued his watch.

Looking up once more towards the clear night sky, he took a deep breath of the cold air before suddenly, searing agony exploded from his back. He immediately began to feel a burning sensation spreading within his blood and he looked down and saw that there was a blade sticking it out from his chest. He then felt a sharp, vice-like grip around his neck, followed by pain as two blades cut into the flesh.

Hassan's head then tumbled down onto the desert sand; his consciousness was still there, swiftly fading into the embrace of death. He tried to scream, to say something but nothing came out for he no longer had any lungs to use. As the darkness claimed him, he heard the voices in the wind, beckoning for him to join them in damnation…

* * *

Crystalline goblets filled with tea clinked upon one another as a toast was made within the Emir's tent. Salim and the officers under his command celebrated yet another successful series of battles today for the army had been split up and within a single day, they had conquered a total of five nomad tribes, their inhabitants already sent off to Lashiek's slave markets. The wealth which they had claimed would also be sent away but to El Haikk where by law, the Sultan receives the lion's share and rest divided among the soldiers who found it.

'At this rate, we can return to El Haikk as heroes!' proclaimed the Emir and the officers raised their glasses in agreement. 'And when the time comes, we will crush the northmen crusaders!'

'For the Sultan! For the One God!' shouted Bey al Bhakar who made a ululating war cry which was taken up by the others as well. For hours they continued to carouse, drinking tea, smoking hookahs filled with shisha and performing nasheeds to praise the bravery of the warriors fighting the infidels in the north. It was later in the night that one of the soldiers came into the Emir's tent and seeking an audience with the commander.

When the soldier arrived, he had been escorted by a pair of armored Mameluk guards who conducted the man inside and the officers looked on with interest. The soldier bowed, as was proper for a man of his station and he spoke his piece.

'My lords' said the soldier whose uniform matched that those with the infantry companies. 'Five of our picket sentries have been found dead!' There was a gasp of surprise from the officers, more than few hissed oaths of vengeance and the Emir called for silence.

'Is there a search party looking for the killers?' asked Salim with a cold, steely tone in his voice.

'Yes my lord! We have men searching as we speak!' replied the soldier.

'I want everyone to be on high alert' commanded the Emir and everyone within the tent obeyed. Men filed out of the tent, many offering respectful bows to their commander before leaving and soon enough, he could hear the voices of men bellowing orders and trumpets being blown. Taking one last swig of his tea, the Emir was left along with his Mameluk guard who dutifully remained at his side.

Strongly suspecting that it was perhaps some vengeful nomads, he was confident that his army could easily fight of any reprisal attacks. He then saw the flap of his tent open and from it came a tall, robed man whose features were completely covered. His palm began to itch and the Emir instinctively reached for the hilt of his scimitar.

'Identify yourself!' demanded one of his guards and the Mameluk brought up swords and spears which were now aimed towards the intruder.

'Return the Gift of Sokth or suffer his wrath' came the dry, whispering voice of the intruder who looked directly towards the Emir who saw something black and shining beneath the hood. The intruder's right hand then clutched the collar of its robes and it cast it away to reveal its true nature. The Emir and his guards clearly saw the ancient and heavy onyx-black armor which protected the intruder, much of which was heavily adorned with the imagery of scorpions but the men could also easily see the wasted, desiccated frame, wrapped in moldering bandages. One of the dreaded Tomb Kings of Nehekhara he realized.

Resting upon the left hip of the Tomb King was long, saw-toothed khopesh and it's left hand ended in a scorpion-like claw. What was most distinguishable about the undead creature's appearance was that it possessed a long, shining black tail which ended it in a bronze, stinger-like object. A death-mask depicting the face of a scorpion covered the face of Tomb King whose gaze was fixed upon Salim.

'Slay it!' commanded the Emir in response and his Mameluk guards rushed the undead monstrosity.

Quickly drawing his sword while keeping his eyes on the creature, he saw one of the guards thrust a spear towards the face of the Tomb King who quickly lunged forward to grab the weapon with its clawed left arm and breaking the bladed head of the weapon from the shaft. At the same time, the Tomb King quickly drew its sword and with a single swift motion, it beheaded a Mameluk as it's tail shot forward and stabbed into the the chest of another.

'TO ARMS! TO ARMS!' roared Salim who immediately heard the soldiers outside rushing towards the tent.

'Sokth's fury befalls upon you' quietly spoke the Tomb King and the ground beneath began to tremble. The sands erupted like geysers, sending up clouds of dry grain and from below came a skittering swarm of scorpions. From outside, the war cries of the Arabyan army quickly turned into screams of terrors and confusion.

A Mameluk cried in agony as the Tomb King's sword slashed across his chest and another was decapitated as the undead creature's scorpion claw caught the man in the neck and the pincers easily cut into flesh. The movements of the elite warriors were quickly hampered as they tried to stomp and crush the swarm of scorpions, their claws pinched into flesh and their stingers left deadly poisons which entered their veins.

Cursing as the scorpion swarm scuttled around him, Salim soon felt the pinpricks of pain as a number of the things crawled up his legs and they injected him with their deadly venoms. The veins beneath his flesh suddenly began to burn, as if his blood had been replaced with acid and the Emir quickly ran towards the entrance of the tent, giving the undead intruder a wide berth as the Mameluks continued to fight the creature and seeking the apothecary's tent which should have stores of poison antidotes. When he emerged out into the camp, his eyes widened in horror as he saw a chaotic scene laid before him.

A sea of scorpions scuttled across the entire camp, men desperately tried to fight back but for every dozen of the things they could stomp on, there were hundreds more to replace them. Nearby, a tent collapsed and from it emerged an absolutely massive scorpion, far larger than even an ox! The giant scorpion shot one of its great claws forwards and it snatched up a soldier. It held the man up for a moment and in the next, he fell in two as his body was cut in half from the waist.

More giant scorpions and swarms of the smaller ones emerged from sands and sending the Arabyan soldiers further into disarray. Salim tried to instill some sense of order among his troops but the poison in his legs became a more pressing concern to the Emir who resumed heading towards the apothecary's tent. He did not get far for the camp ground was completely covered by the skittering swarm and he looked about, trying to find his horse or just about anything he could use to help him avoid the insects.

Another cry of pain came from within his tent and he glanced over his shoulder. His eyes widened when he saw the Tomb King cut down the last of his guard and it turned about to face him. The undead creature raised its saw-toothed sword towards him in challenge and the Emir knew that he would not the time to get the medicine he needed.

Hissing a series of oaths and profanities, he raised his scimitar in a defensive stance but his concentration was ruined as the pain caused by the poison in his veins began to intensify to the point of being unbearable. The Tomb King then rushed forward with an incredible degree of speed and Salim tried to parry it, but his legs gave out and he stumbled down upon his back. When he hit the ground, he felt himself crushing the chitinous hides of several scarabs, the stingers of some of the creatures punctured his flesh and delivering even more poison.

'You are pathetic' came the whispery voice of the Tomb King who soon stood over him with sword pointed down at his face. 'Even a lowly goblin is more deserving of my blade'

Salim tried to say something, he wanted to curse at the thing, to spit upon it but the poison had already worked its way upwards. He then saw the scorpion tail of the undead creature rising above him and it stabbed down into his chest. Agony flared across his torso but rather confusingly, the burning sensation within his veins began to fade.

'Return to your people, mortal' whispered the Tomb King with utter contempt. 'Return, and tell them to tempt not the wrath of the Scorpion God, lest they would have to answer to Selkhet…'

* * *

When the light of dawn greeted the world, the Arabyan encampment was reduced to ruins and a mass grave; the only living beings that stirred were the vultures and insects drawn to a carrion feast. Stumbling more than a mile away from the ruined camp, Salim felt exhausted and utterly terrified for in his mind, he could not remove the image of the undead horror who had called itself, Selkhet. His throat was parched and his legs burned not with poison but with exhaustion as he strode across the dunes.

With very little food or water on his person, the Emir knew that his chances of survival were fairly slim within the blazing desert of the Sahra. He had not the time to grab many supplies as every soldier within his army had been slaughtered by the scorpion horde and now here he was, in the middle of nowhere and he would likely die of thirst before hunger did but his fear of the Tomb Kings far outweighed it his concern over the lack of provisions. For many hours he wandered the desert, hoping to find something like an oasis or a nomad camp, but the latter was unlikely for his army had enslaved many for miles around.

By the time night came, the exhausted Emir collapsed upon sands, his body wracked with pain and his stamina all spent. He lay there at the base of a dune, begging the One God for deliverance from his plight, the wind blew in his direction and with it came the scent of cooked meat. There was a sudden burst of energy within the Salim as hope blossomed within him and he immediately crested the dune ahead in an attempt to get a better look.

When he reached the top of the dune, he looked about to see any campfires and he soon saw a small group of number of flames to the north. Quickly running in that direction, he stumbled down the dunes but he quickly got back up, his thoughts were occupied by images of food and fresh water to drink. In the darkness, he could hardly see who it was that made camp but it did not matter much to him now for if it were fellow Arabyans than he would be in luck but if it were nomads or bandits then he was confident that as a man of his station, he could easily work something out.

He then heard the loud neighing of a horse which was followed by men shouting in a foreign tongue which immediately caused him to halt. The scraping sounds of swords escaping their sheaths then came, followed by the clatter of plates and the jingling of mail. From the camp emerged several fair skinned men clad in suits of heavy armor, each one carried either a drawn weapon or a torch.

Illuminated by the torches, Salim saw the colors and pennants of these men. Some carried the symbol of the twin-tailed comets while others carried the symbol of the lily.

'By the One God...' whispered Emir Salim ibn Nasir for the Crusaders had come to Araby.


End file.
